Yes, I got more bounce than the fucking bump
And then you want to know why because I'm motherfuckin' truckin'
I'm in the pocket just like Grady Tate
Got supplies of beats so you don't have to wait
'Cause I'm the master blaster, drinking up the shasta
My voice sounds sweet 'cause it has to (looking good!)
So light a match to my ass 'cause I'm blowin' up
I'd like to thank the people for just showin' up
But now I want y'all to move it
Put your point on the floor and just prove it
And I'm smurfin', not rehearsin', gettin' live, y'all
A little puffy, so you know what, I'm doin' right
'Cause that's the kind of frame of mind I'm in
I got this feelin' that it's back again
So don't touch me, 'cause I'm electric
And if you touch me, you'll get shocked

You got, you got, you got, you got, you got
You've got the boomin' system, but it's sloshing out doo-doo
You think it's chocolate milk, but it's watered down Yoo-hoo
I've been through many times in which I thought I might lose it
The only thing that saved me, has always been music
We've got our own studio, the Son of the G
It's no question, life's been good to me
'Cause life ain't nothing but a good groove
A good mixtape to put you in the right mood
This one goes out to my man, the Groove Merchant
Coming through with beats for which I've been searching
Like two sealed copies, of Expansions
I'm like Tom Vu with yachts and mansions
The logo I sport is the face of the monkey
Union made, Ben Davis-quality, it's no junk, see?
My chrome is shining, just like an icicle
I ride around town in my low-rider bicyle

So many wack emcees, you get the TV bozak
Ain't even gonna call out your names, 'cause you're so wack
And one big oaf, who's faker than plastic
A dictionary definition of the word spastic
You should have never started something that you couldn't finish
'Cause writin' rhymes to me is like Popeye to spinach
I'm bad ass, move ya' fat ass, 'cause you're wack, son
Dancing around like you think you're Janet Jackson
Thought you could walk on me to get some ground to walk on
I'll put the rug out under your ass as I talk on
I'll take you out like a sniper on a roof
Like an emcee at the fever in the DJ booth
With your headphones strapped, you're rockin' rewind/pause
Tryin' to figure out what you can do to go for yours
But like a pencil to a paper, I got more to come
One after another, you can all get some
So you better take your time, and meditate on your rhyme
'Cause your shit'll be stinkin' when I go for mine
And that's right, y'all, don't get uptight, y'all
You can't say shit because you're biting what I write, y'all
And that's wrong, y'all, over the long haul
You can't cut the mustard when you're fronting it all

Lyrics submitted by The Marine, edited by GTony

Professor Booty Lyrics as written by Adam Nathaniel Yauch Adam Horovitz

Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

Lyrics powered by LyricFind

Professor Booty song meanings
Add Your Thoughts


sort form View by:
  • 0
    General Commentthis.. is the SHIT !
    IVon May 30, 2002   Link
  • 0
    General Commentyeeah, i agree. hey, i heard that this song was directed at MC Serch for dissin the Beastie Boys.
    green_monkeyon May 19, 2004   Link
  • 0
    General CommentYes. The last verse by MCA(So many wack MCs...) is directed at Serch.
    YassssssNopeon March 22, 2007   Link
  • 0
    dark_eyez_666on June 01, 2012   Link
  • 0
    General CommentThe beginning is a soundbite from the movie "Wild Style". MCA' last verse is definitely a dis directed at MC Serch of 3rd Bass. For those that don't know: 3rd Bass was the mediocre white rap group that Russell Simmons replaced the Beasties with on Def Jam Records after the Beasties left & made Paul's Boutique on Capital Records.
    kanoe13on June 10, 2012   Link

Add your thoughts

Log in now to tell us what you think this song means.

Don’t have an account? Create an account with SongMeanings to post comments, submit lyrics, and more. It’s super easy, we promise!

Back to top